“No. Um, this… it happens. I sometimes lose things.” The prim man behind the concierge counter looks over. His eyes flick away when I meet them, judging. He heard that. I’m being weird. “It’s okay. I can get more clothes. It’s just stuff anyway.”
I shrink under the weight of Arthur’s worried eyes. His face is so much more serious when he’s upset and the false bravado he wears so well drops away. The emotion adds dimension to his blond-hair-tan-skin-hazel-eyes sameness, a rich splash of ink among the gold.
“How is this ‘okay’?” he asks, and there’s this crack inside mychest that sounds like ice breaking underfoot, but I’m the frozen thing threatening to swallow us both up.
It’s okay, because I lived out of a backpack as a kid, where homework and birthday cards went in then never came out. This is me doing great, because I’m literally a loser. I’ve lost everything I’ve ever had.“It just is.” I quickly wipe under my eyes, just in case. “This isn’t the first time I’ve left something somewhere without realizing it. I—I have ADHD. So I lose things.”
Careless, easily distracted, impulsive, disorganized. Look up ADHD online, and you’ll find a grocery list of traits I’ve either ground out of my personality or learned to accept. I’d trade it all again to be as creative as I am, to make movies. But I wish I didn’t have to.
Arthur steps toward me. “Lilah.”
My muscles tense. He rarely says my first name. “What?”
“You don’t need to put up this much of a fight when people want to help you.”
“Pretending you’re okay is what strong, functional adults do,” I reply. I’m going for dry humor, but it comes out as pitiful honesty. How is it that the moment I say something out loud that I’ve silently believed since I was a kid, I can hear how depressing it is?
Arthur’s frown deepens. I’m momentarily afraid this educational boyfriend act he’s doing will make him touch me again, and my spine stiffens, ready to act defensive for the rest of my weepy body. Truth is, I’d really like if he did. Hold me, like he did on the plane. But I’m not ready to process whatever that confusing development means, beyond how it’s been ages since someone touched me to makemehappy instead of the other way around.
With a soft sigh, Arthur slips his hands into his pockets. Farewell, potential hug. “I have an hour until anyone notices I’m missing,”he says. “I was going to go walk around Port Hercules before the photo shoot. Come with me.”
“A port?”
“It’s cool.” Arthur sucks in one cheek, then shakes his head. “Ah, forget it.”
“No.”The word comes flying out. “I mean, yes. I’ll come.”
“Really?” He’s already brightening up, a smile starting to take root. “We can rent a car. You want to drive, or shall I?”
“Oh. You. I don’t—drive.”
His eyes brush down my face, then he nods. “Works for me.”
“What?” I’m talking before thinking. “That’sweird, Arthur. Sixteen-year-olds can drive.”
“Why would I think that? I like to drive. You don’t. We’ll get along better this way.”
“Hmm.” I side-eye him. No one is this nice when I say I don’t drive. “It’s not an ADHD thing. But it’s not not one.”
“Okay.”
“I can’t tell where the car is, spatially.”
“Well, that is difficult.”
“Don’t lie, you could drive anything.”
“I could print you a book of cars I’ve refused to drive.”
“I also run into doorknobs a lot. And tables. Cabinets.”
“I’ll stay on the lookout for any rogue kitchens.” He offers his arm. “Come on. There’s a garden nearby, too. We leave now, we’ll get in before they close.”
For a second, I’m confused about why he waits for my reaction after saying that. Then I remember telling him about my prize-winning tomatoes, and that same blue-ribbon rush kicks through my leftover sadness. What if Arthur is thinking about me as someone who’s won things, just like he has?
I’ve always felt singular, like the strangest person to ever exist,an alien that crash-landed on Earth and was raised among the humans. I’ve never figured out the right mask to wear—my regular adult-woman facade slips when a conversation goes too fast and I can’t figure out how to reply, and then everyone is waiting, and then they’re not, and I’ve missed it again. The cue. The normal social interaction. But when Arthur looks at me like this, I realize maybe being unique isn’t a tragedy if it’s the reason he keeps smiling at me.
Somehow this feel like winning, too.
